Just a mini-chapter of plotting, evilness and big old hints. In future chapters Harry makes a comeback, but is he the same boy (man?) that Ginny loved? Can Ginny ever forgive the father of her child for his betrayal? Why has Blaise got revenge on his mind? Is Snape really into wearing women's fishnet tights and why the heck is that ferret down Hagrid's trousers (big ew!). All expect two will be revealed… but only if you review!

Otherwise I'm climbing in my hole and waiting for HP6 to land on my doormat.

A Discussion and Discovery

DRACO

"Draco, what are you going to do?"

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across my face. I answer.

"I'm going to do what I should have done years ago," I pause; tilt my head, savouring how good the cliché feels on my tongue. Perhaps I should have gone on the stage; I really have that dangerous drawl perfected.

A truly malicious smile emerges on Pansy's face, like a shark coming up for air after a feast, its ready for more.

"You're going to finish the job!" she exclaims, looking ready to begin a frenzied jig of sadistic victory.

"Well, yes, that is the idea," I reply, warming to the topic. Despite the cold fist that seems to be intent on ramming my consciousness with giddy taunts of 'you'll lose her, you'll lose her!' I'm actually beginning to get a little excited. During my early years at Hogwarts I would fill endless sketchbooks with detailed drawings of Potter's demise. What fun they were! I believe I set my pencil to nearly every known form of horrendous torture devices in those years. Every picture, every scribble of pain, contained a pathetic, scar-headed boy screaming bloody murder for his mummy. Oh mummy! Make it stop! The animated speech bubble would squeak. Hilarious.

"How will you do it?" Pansy asks. I imagine ideas are already speeding through her twisted little brain. Perhaps she is considering tiny piranhas slowly feasting on his internal organs, first the liver and finally the heart, each torturous bite lasting an eternity… Or maybe she is considering which Unforgivable curse shall fire from my wand. Or perhaps she believes me to take the muggle route and kill him with my bare hands…a knife in the back…maybe.

"I'm still considering my options." My voice is smooth and my face a calm mask of cold malice.

She nods and her smooth white hand expertly removes the pendant around her neck.

"Here," she says, passing the priceless object to me. I pause, just for a second, before reaching out and taking it. The mist inside the pendent changes to red in my touch. It's been a long time since I have held such an object; an object which has the potential to destroy my happiness from a simple crack. The power it commands is both exhilarating and terrifying. I suppose I should wear gloves…

"Some would say that you should leave him alive," Pansy says, her tone low, melodious and of course completely insincere, "After all he's happy now…we wouldn't want to ruin that now, would we?"

Gosh no! I think with a scoff, heaven forbid little Harry Potter being anything other than deliriously happy…his mental state has of course, always been my top priority! Fuck my marriage or my wife as long as he's fine then I'll sleep soundly at night!

"Do you really believe that when Ginny finds out, that she'll leave you?" Pansy says simply, her eyes failing to shield that foolish hope and her blasé tone hiding none of the pleasure she is undoubtedly feeling.

"She'll never know," I declare with a hint of a threat. "I'll find the bastard who wrote that note and make him wish that his whore of a mother kept her knickers on that night when his father asked so smoothly, 'how about it darling?'"

"Draco, you're beginning to sound like you're reciting one of those bloody awful muggle screenplays! Let me guess…you're preparing your pistols for a duel at dawn!" Pansy finishes with a giggle.

"Ha. Ha." I yawn and place the pendent carefully in my pocket. I'll need it later. I want Harry to know exactly what he has lost before he dies. I'm honest like that.

Pansy moves slowly forward. I peer down to see her shaking hand reaching towards my shoulder. "Don't you want to see him?" she asks, nerves causing her voice to rise and falter.

That rare feeling of shame causes my face to heat up. A Malfoy does not blush! It's practically a genetic requirement.

"No," I answer shortly and jerk my shoulder away. I hate it when she brings it up. I have more important things to wish dead.

Her face drops momentarily before the imitated mask shields her features.

"So, you're leaving now?" she enquires coolly. "What's first on the Draco 'revenge agenda'?"

I raise my chin and gaze up to the ceiling in mock consideration. Strangely enough it feels just like I'm compiling a shopping list. Of course in the place of broccoli there will be grisly murder, but hell, the principle is the same.

"Send Potter to that cloudy place in the sky." I muse lightly, only someone who knew me well, like Pansy, would detect the undertone of malice. "Then hunt down the blackmailer; provide him with a bloody death worthy of Voldemort's most depraved dealings and then I might, if I finish early, take a long walk in the country, pick bluebells and coo over little baby lambs…I'm not certain of the details just yet…"

"You're not fooling anyone, Draco Malfoy."

"Maybe not," I reply then add seriously, "But first I have to see my wife."

"Why?"

"To tell her I love her, of course…"

GINNY

Growing up, stumbling behind the rowdy shadows of my brothers, was an experience; a fun but incredibly messy experience. It was a running joke in my close-knit family that I was like a carrot pulled fresh out from the ground, orange and caked in mud. (I never said that my relatives were comedians. Perhaps my father had exhausted his nicknaming capabilities by the time I came along) Up until I was around eleven I don't think my hair was ever combed neatly or my hand down clothes ever without a stain or two (sometimes the stains originated from the Bill Era – now that's what I call endurance) and my face was never without a smear of dirt. I liked it that way. I was young, carefree and blissfully muddy. I loved it.

But now that same summer dirt is iron wire under my fingernails. The desperate act I have just committed brings curdles of disgust in my stomach. If anyone saw me now they would think me insane.

I am standing in a place I have never before been brave enough to stand. The sky above me is blue and peaceful. The trees around me are knowing and sheltering.

The ground before me is broken. I am standing at his grave. His coffin lays unopened before me. I have only to stumble down into the hole I sinfully created and my mind will once again be put at ease. The sight of his rotted body, past all recognition, will stay with me forever but at least I will be free of this crushing doubt. At least I will be free.

I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. They don't matter. I step forward and drop the shovel; it falls to the ground without a sound. My foot slips and I let out a yell of fright as I land within inches of the coffin. My shaking hand reaches in to jacket and pulls out my wand. I wait and wait. In a whisper I utter a spell and the wooden lid creaks open. My body is stiff and try as I might, I just can't move.

Do it you fool! Look!

"Ginny?" a familiar, beloved voice questions incredulously. Their tone of fear and disgust is ignored. I don't turn around. I've come too far. I've lost so much. I can do this.

I look into the coffin.

"No, no, no…" I mumble helplessly. No.

"Ginny. Get up!" the voice demands, "Now!"

But I can't. I can't even breathe. I can't even think.

It's all true. Blaise was telling the truth.

The coffin is empty.

Harry where are you?

A sudden resolve floods through me.

Harry, I'll find you…